


a house overlooking the waterfall

by tzitzimeme



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: F/F, I don't know what I'm doing, Other, Useless Lesbians, or just one (1) useless lesbian, someone wanted to see, what is this site
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 08:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tzitzimeme/pseuds/tzitzimeme
Summary: And if she had a wish, she would wish for a happy ending. But even the Warriors of Light can't fulfil that.or: an Elezen comforts a dying dragon with a song.(takes place right after the Final Steps of Faith; universe where there are multiple WoLs instead of 1, following MSQ)





	a house overlooking the waterfall

**Author's Note:**

> someone wanted to see my lesbians (ノ▽〃)
> 
> context: multiple WoL universe but still following in-game MSQ, Tzitzi (Tzitzimime Atenco real name Tiffney Lallamonde) is a Duskwight Elezen and Breve (Breve Garamond, real name because she doesn't do cringey adventurer titles) is a Keeper of the Moon Miqo'te who were childhood friends in Gridania; Jules, Akhira'a and Reika are other WoLs in this universe but don't really appear here. it's all just. useless elezen lesbian
> 
> breve is also supposed to have a crush on estinien (maybe) (for context) (idk what im doing)

There is a dragon in Mourn, and she is dying.

Dragons live ‘almost forever’, in a way. There is a point where dragons are considered ancient, even within their own kind, but by that time, they would have seen entire Umbral Eras tear the world apart. They would have seen the rise and fall of Astral civilizations. Generations upon generations die and change. Wars start and end.

She was one of the many pulled into Nidhogg’s feverish rampage at the final battle. Dragons remember through song, and Nidhogg’s song of his sister was so rich with the most profund of sorrows that stirred the whole Dravanian horde into centuries of battle.

But dragons are still mortal. Their skin breaks. They bleed. They die.

Tzitzi finds herself at Anyx Trine, following the defeat of Nidhogg. The dragonsong has ended, and his brood has returned to Dravania to lick their wounds. Or, for some...

“For heeding my call, thou shall ever have my gratitude.” Vidofnir greets Tzitzi at the entrance to Mourn. “Thou hath traveled here alone?”

“There’s nothing I can’t handle myself,” Tzitzi laughs. “What do I need to do?”

Vidofnir knows this is a selfish request. Tzitzi doesn’t mind.

There are more things dead than alive in Mourn. Scattered bones and barely-fresh corpses lie still on sacred ground. After Nidhogg’s last stand, this number of bodies isn’t surprising.

Vidofnir leads her to a dragon with brilliant blue scales, lying curled up on the floor, almost asleep. Her name is Melusine. She was not born with that name, but has gone by that for centuries, renamed by an Elezen in another age.

“She may not stir.” Vidofnir explains. “She may rest till her wounds heal, or she may sleep forever. Still, I beseech thee, warrior of warriors-- speak with her. She may be able to hear thee voice.”

“...Speak with her, about...?” Tzitzi looks expectantly at Vidofnir. “I don’t really know what’s a good topic.”

“Thine adventures, through thine songs.” Vidofnir looks back at the fallen dragon. “Thou art not bound to sing.”

“...But it would help,” Tzitzi says. “Right?”

Tzitzi pulls the lute out of her bag. “Dragons pass memories on in song, and I’m good at singing.” Tzitzi looks at Vidofnir. “That’s why you called me, right?”

Vidofnir does not answer. Tzitzi decides not to wait, and just sits, cross-legged, on the floor of Mourn. The ground itself feels warm, with lava running underneath and all. It feels pleasant now, but when all these corpses start to rot...

She doesn’t think on it. “This is a song of Gridania,” Tzitzi says, and her fingers dance across the strings. Vidofnir listens.

\---

By the time night falls, Melusine has still not stirred. There’s no reason to rush back to Ishgard, so Tzitzi makes herself feel at home in Anyx Trine.

“I have to write to Breve,” Tzitzi says to herself, yet loudly enough for others to hear. “She got worried when she heard I was going off on my own.”

Dragons have no need for the written word, which is great, because it means no one around her can comment on her terrible penmanship. As long as Breve can read it, it’s good enough. One of the dragonlings, half her size but likely twice her age, offer to carry it all the way to Ishgard, and insists despite Tzitzi repeatedly saying her own chocobo can handle it.

“Reika and Jules are off in the Churning Mists atop Sohm Al, handling... ‘Moogle diplomacy’.” Tzitzi hums, pacing around Vidofnir. She is too restless to sleep, even as the moon hangs high overhead. She’s used to shooting things while singing, not just the latter. “I could invite Akhira’a over, too. He can sing well, even if he doesn’t look the part.”

Vidofnir cranes her neck upwards. “This task can only be fulfilled by thy voice.”

Tzitzi stops in her tracks. “Just me?”

When she left, Tzitzi didn’t ask for many details. Vidofnir had simply approached her on the ceremony of Ishgard’s reunion with the Eorzean alliance, asking her for a favor. _A requiem for an old friend,_ Vidofnir had said. There was no reason for Tzitzi to turn her down.

But she’s curious, now. Vidofnir is not one to speak unless approached first, but also not one to avoid questions. “Melusine had a lover in another age,” Vidofnir explains. “A mortal whose melodies sound kindred with thy own songs.”

It makes a little more sense, now. Why Vidofnir would call out Tzitzi, of all people. She hasn’t been particularly nice to the dragons-- she would bring back meat for the younglings, the smaller dragons that she deems cute enough to be doted on, but hasn’t shown any of the respect that elder dragons demand. Or, maybe the idea of seniority and formality is a little moot between dragon and man. Tzitzi likes to treat everyone on the same level as her. For Elezens, it’s sometimes gotten her in trouble.

Perhaps dragons are above that kind of thing. Tzitzi wouldn’t know. “So...” Tzitzi hums. “Am I pretending to be her lover?”

“Twould be unlike her to mistake thou as such,” Vidofnir says. “However, thine observation is still sound. If it proves a discomfort...”

“I’m fine with that,” Tzitzi answers, even if she doesn’t know she’s telling the truth. Being a Warrior of Light is all about taking things, even absolute bullshit, in graceful stride. Tzitzi doesn’t always achieve this, but when it comes to their new draconian allies, she’ll try to be a little more accomodating.

And Tzitzi understands the wish to help a close friend. Especially one nearing death. Dragons hold onto sentimentality as well, not unlike humans.

Even if sentimentality is-- just that.

Tzitzi is used to sleeping anywhere she needs to. Dragonlings sleep in a soft bed of downing feathers from the bodies of large birds, and to Tzitzi, that’s good enough.

When she wakes up, she has to move, very carefully, to not awaken the dragonlings that have basically draped themselves all over her. Dragons are cold-blooded, and she’s the warmest thing in the whole of Anyx Trine when the sun dips below Sohm Al.

\---

Melusine wakes up, for the first time, when Tzitzi is singing about Breve.

Tzitzi doesn’t notice her stir. Her fingers are dancing across the strings, lyrics from her mouth unwritten on any piece of paper. She makes them up, all the time, but for this melody, the person she wrote it for will never change.

“What a gorgeous soliloquy,” the dragon says, and Tzitzi first wants to say that it’s not quite a soliloquy--

Before she realizes that Melusine is awake. “Oh!” Tzitzi gets up onto her feet. “You’re awake! That’s great. I’ll call Vido--”

“Please, do not halt thy song,” Melusine pleads, and Tzitzi stops in her tracks. “Pray finish this verse, at least.”

Tzitzi doesn’t question Melusine’s request. She always plays her heart out for her audience, whether willing or not so. She starts again, chords slowly returning to her fingertips, hands flowing across strings like water over a cliff face-- she never plays the same way two times over. Each rehearsal has a line sung slightly faster, or a few notes added where there should be empty space. It’s a bard’s secret, a way to keep people listening.

Indeed, the only thing that ever remains the same is who this song is sung for.

 _When she shines, for me, alight-- and her eyes are pieces of sky--_ even the ending isn’t settled. Perhaps there isn’t an ending to this song, at all. Maybe it just ends when Tzitzi’s fingers stop moving.

She looks back up from her harp, and Melusine is asleep, once more.

\---

“Not a guarantee, by any means, but a sign most welcome,” Vidofnir grunts. “If she may awaken, I shall be bold enough ask thou to stay longer than anticipated. Thou is not beholden, however.”

“It’s fine. Not like I have anything to do,” Tzitzi laughs, half-heartedly. “All the political reformation stuff in Ishgard isn’t my forte.”

Vidofnir is an expert in being absolutely unreadable. Still, in the silence after Tzitzi’s words, Tzitzi wonders if she wants to say something-- 

But Vidofnir changes the topic. “Are the younger ones bothering you?”

She speaks in the same draconic language, but somehow, the regality in her tone seems to take leave, for just a moment. “Ah?” Tzitzi shakes her head. “No, it’s okay! I think?”

“Forgive them. They still have much to learn, and so little of the world seen.”

“Most people say that about me,” Tzitzi shrugs, before laughing. “It’s alright. They’re cute, so it’s fine!”

Pause. “Eh-- don’t tell my friends I called them cute,” Tzitzi adds in.

Vidofnir snorts. It’s kind of a laugh, Tzitzi supposes. “Your fellow warriors, or the dragonlings?”

“Both!” Tzitzi answers. “I mean, all your ‘little ones’ are technically older than me, so it’s a bit weird...”

Vidofnir eyes Tzitzi. “I am most curious,” she begins, and Tzitzi wonders if she should be scared. “How old are you?”

“Oh, um... twenty-one cycles,” Tzitzi replies.

Vidofnir doesn’t seem surprised. “Younger than expected, but it seems I remember enough to approximate the age of mortals.”

“Do we all feel like kids to you?”

“Perhaps,” Vidofnir answers while not really answering at all. “However, mortal men always age far too quickly.”

Before Tzitzi tries to understand what Vidofnir means, Vidofnir raises one of her wings. “If thou prefers, thou can slumber under my wing.”

Wuh--

Tzitzi feels her face burn up, for some reason. “It’s fine!” She knows Vidofnir is just being nice, even a little motherly, but Tzitzi just-- “I can sleep on my own. You’d probably get kept awake by my snoring, anyway.”

“Rest well,” Vidofnir says as Tzitzi leaves.

As even more dragonlings try to as for hugs or to sleep on top of her tonight, Tzitzi wonders if she should take up Vidofnir’s offer.

\---

The dragonling that delivered Tzitzi’s letter has returned, a neatly-sealed envelope in its mouth.

_Are you still angry at me?_

_Please respond to your linkpearl, Tzitzi. We’re worried about you._

Tzitzi’s eyes flicker over the paper, the skin of her finger tracing the ink, where Breve’s handwriting resides. She gingerly pinches the corner of the paper, between her index finger and thumb, before slowly ripping it in half.

She drops it in the river, and then she regrets it, almost immediately. By the time she’s dived into the water and scooped the papers out, they’ll been soaked through, ink running like tears.

Melusine wakes up again today, and thank god all the water’s dried out of Tzitzi’s coat by then. She’s singing about Julius and Reika now, their eternal dance in the moonlight, how they always seem to be close but never that close at all, because Julius’ heart is gone to the wind, carried away by the gusts of life and the beauty of nature, while Reika’s is always, right there, waiting--

“A sad tale,” Melusine breathes, and Tzitzi looks up. “The life of mortals flickers like a candle flame during a storm. Two lovers may not realize their folly till it is far too late.”

“And it’s nice to meet you, too,” Tzitzi says, giving Melusine a bow. Melusine raises her head, claws grating against the ground as she shifts herself to look at her. “My name is Tzitzimime Atenco. I’m a friend of Vidofnir.”

“Thou art known to me,” Melusine replies. “Warrior of warriors. However, ‘tis good to meet outside a battlefield.”

Tzitzi nods. She’s trying to smile, but really, she doesn’t know what to say right now. It’s a bit hard to think about how, just a scarce week ago, the entirety of Ishgard was slaying dragons left and right on the Steps of Faith. “Vidofnir asked me to help you, so... do you need anything? Any food?”

“I have not yet regained my appetite, but thine thoughts are appreciated,” Melusine grumbles. Not in a mean way, just... in the way all dragons seem to grumble, with their deep voices.

Tzitzi sits, cross-legged, on the floor in front of Melusine. There’s a beat of silence, before Tzitzi says: “Should I continue singing?”

“I would not object,” Melusine hums. “But the silence, too, is welcomed.”

“Ah...” Tzitzi looks away. “Do you want me to stop singing?”

“I wish for thou to stay,” Melusine answers, and somehow, it kind of surprises Tzitzi. Dragons are frank, yet not really. They say so much with so little, and it leaves Tzitzi assuming. They never correct any of her assumptions, either.

No matter what, someone a few thousands years old is going to have a bit of trouble speaking to someone who’s twenty-one.

“Thine friends.” Melusine speaks again, and Tzitzi looks back up at her. “The ones spoken in the melodies of thy songs. Tell me of them.”

“Oh! I can do that,” Tzitzi says. “Well, there’s four of them. Breve, Akhira’a, Julius and Reika. I met Breve first...”

\---

(It’s the favorite story Breve likes to tell people, when Tzitzi is fast asleep on the table nearby and can’t stop her. It’s the story of how they walked into their own funeral.

The Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak used to be a gaol for the most wicked of the wicked. A place you were dropped in if the Padjalis themselves decided you were never to see the light of day again. Obviously, a place with such a cursed history would inspire many legends of grandeur: that ghosts of restless prisoners still roam the halls, or that one of the guardsmen hid a huge coffer full of gold within the caverns. The latter is one Tzitzi has heard for many years-- that as a sick game, a promised chest full of treasures was hidden within cave, and the inmate who found it would be set free as a rich man. But the way the caverns twisted and turned confused all except the guardsmen who had a map of the place. Inmates could wander in circles for days, or end up going in the exact opposite direction of where they intended to go. Sometimes, they wander so far away from the main prison that they can’t find their way back. They’re left to the elements, alone, surrounded by diremites and poison-breathing microchus. The cave becomes a catacomb.

And that’s what Tzitzi thought would’ve become of them, too, when they proceeded to get lost in it.

Breve has always been the responsible one. The one packing water for the journey, the one making sure Tzitzi bandages and washes her wounds, the one who yanks Tzitzi’s ear and pulls her away from certain death... the two of them walked into the Thousand Maws of Toto-Rak with a three days’ worth of rations, a faded decades-old map and a whole fuckton of arrows. They expected to be out by sundown, curiosity sated and maybe even the legendary treasure haul, if they were lucky.

One panicked escape from a giant Banemite later, and they were left completely lost, half of those arrows gone and their rations stolen away by spiders.

Breve had control over the map. It was the most logical option. _This way,_ she would say with such certainty, even if Tzitzi felt a pang of doubt as Breve wandered down the even more dimly-lit hallway with the growls of monsters in the distance. At the end of the first day-- not that they knew when day and night ended, seeing as they couldn’t see sunlight-- Breve finally stopped when they reached a dead end they didn’t expect, Tzitzi’s stomped a few nasty bugs to death, and their stomachs were left as the only growling beasts for miles.

Did you know spiders taste like shit? Their innards. Taste like _shit._ No matter what you try to do to cook them. But it’s food, it’s flesh and not-that-much poison (it’s okay, Esuna still existed for when Breve couldn’t cut out the venom glands well enough). There was an underground stream, thank the Twelve for that, but Breve forbid them from bathing. They shouldn’t contaminate their only water source.

Hours ticked by. Then days. Breve had led them completely out of the map’s reaches, because the way the hallways twist now make zero sense, and the spiderwebs everywhere along with pools of gunk on the floor imply that maybe no one else has ever traversed here before. Tzitzi only broke down after a week, because she wanted a shower, a hug, and she wanted to go home, damn adventuring, damn this treasure. She’s been plucking the arrows out of dead spiders because there just won’t be enough to go around otherwise.

_Are we going to die here, Breve?_

_Who are you to say that, Tzitzi?_ Breve gave her a look. Once she’ll never forget. _You’re the one who tells me to fight for a happy ending._

At some point, a seedkin spits on their map and destroys it. Around the end of week two, they find themselves running for their lives again, the Banemite that they ran into on the first day making its dramatic reappearance.

 _Leave me behind! I’ll distract it!_ Tzitzi screamed because they weren’t as fast, back then, not so quick on their feet when they haven’t eaten well in days. _Get to safety!_

 _As if!_ Breve yelled back. _You’re such an idiot! I’d never--_

The monster’s shrill cry. Tzitzi’s on her last arrow. She turned around, and they’re staring at the Banemite in all of its many, many eyes. She fired.

She fucking missed.

Her arrow bounced off the rocks on the top of the cavern. Breve let out a curse, the Banemite opens its mouth, Tzitzi grabbed her friend and immediately covered Breve with her own body, the Banemite’s fangs inched closer--

The cave ceiling collapsed.

Her arrow must’ve loosened a rock, Breve reasoned. Or so she would still have, if she didn’t believe in divine intervention and the hands of Hydaelyn Herself. Luck or not, the Banemite was buried in rocks. When Tzitzi opened her eyes, shakily turning her head, she saw sunlight.

 _Hey, where did this thing chase us to--?_ Tzitzi got off Breve, and the streaming light from the outside world fell upon a coffer they’d failed to notice, tucked away in an out-of-the-ways hole in the wall. It glistened like gold. It was hope.

When Tzitzi climbed out of Toto-Rak, a chest full of gold in one hand and Breve’s hand in another, she wondered if this is the meaning of having two birds in your hand.

But the absolute favorite part of this tale is when they get back to Gridania. Breve takes a long time to go over this part for every single telling. She talks about how Tzitzi slammed open the chapel doors, how all the heads turned as the two of them walked in, tracking mud on the carpet. How the priest stopped midway through the rites, staring at the two unwashed children in shock. How Tzitzi flung her arms opened dramatically, yelled _Behold!_ , how her voice echoed through the sanctum, how Tzitzi’s mother rushed to her side in tears because she knows how her daughter walks, recognizing the sound of her footsteps before she even sees her--

How Claribel reached down and hugged Breve instead, saying, _Thank you so much for saving her!_

 _Hello?!_ Tzitzi stared incredulously at her mother. _I saved her!!_

 _You smell like shite,_ her father said, and then he went on his knees to hug Tzitzi and finally allowed himself to cry.)

\---

Melusine has a nice laugh. “Forgive me, but I understand thy mother’s sentiments,” she hums.

Tzitzi shrugs. “She’s still like that, even now. ...You have children, then?”

“A child,” Melusine corrects. Singular. Tzitzi decides not to ask Melusine where her child is, because there’s a very real chance that she might’ve killed them with her own hands.

Melusine rests her head on the ground. “My weariness catches up with me. Sing me a song of the dusk.”

“Ah?” Tzitzi blinks. She hasn’t really been commanded to sing about something in particular before, but... shit, she’s a minstrel, she can do it. “Alright. I’ll do my best!”

“And, tomorrow...” Melusine hums. “A basket full of ninki nanka flesh shall be good.”

She falls asleep to a song about the moon and its keepers.

When Tzitzi returns to Vidofnir’s side, Vidofnir greets her, as customary, before suddenly saying: “Thou is very different when not by thy friends’ side.”

“Huh?”

“Far less...” Vidofnir tries to find a good word, with just the right amount of politeness laced with snarky implications. “Compulsive.”

“...Ah, right,” Tzitzi mutters. “Well, someone has to keep my friends entertained, right? And it’s gotta be me.”

“‘Tis an act, then?”

“I...” Tzitzi has no idea why Vidofnir is asking her this now. It’s too late for this kind of heavy-hitting question. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

Vidofnir lowers her head. “Forgive my prying. I had simply thought it odd that thou would agree to stay here, on thy lonesome, for so long.”

 _As if you’re running away from something,_ is the sentence left unsaid. But maybe Vidofnir didn’t mean that. Maybe Tzitzi fills up the gaps with her own imagination.

Maybe that’s the real intention.

“I like Melusine,” Tzitzi decides to answer. “So that’s why I’m staying. We’re friends now!”

That seems like a good enough answer for Vidofnir.

Tzitzi doesn’t say she wants to sleep by Vidofnir’s side today. Instead, she simply touches the tip of her wing, and Vidofnir raises it, willingly, without another word. 

As she crawls under Vidofnir’s wing, she wonders if she should write back to Breve. Just pen a quick _I’m fine_ and send it back to Ishgard. Of course, Breve will know enough to realize it’s a bloody lie, but that’s the point. Or maybe she should give Breve complete radio silence. No answer, no sign of life, and keep it that way for weeks. Make her assume the worst.

Maybe then, she’ll fucking understand.

...But Tzitzi realizes she can’t do that. She rolls over to her side, back lying against the side of Vidofnir’s body, and she pops the linkpearl back into her ear.

“Hey, Breve.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

 _”--Tzitzi?!”_ Breve answers almost immediately, as if she’s been waiting. _”Tzitzi! Where are--”_

“I’m fine,” she hums. “I’ll come back soon.”

And she takes the linkpearl out of her ear. She considers crushing it, but instead, she gingerly pockets it, trying to forget about its existence again.

Thank the heavens Vidofnir doesn’t ask anything. Thank the heavens she knows enough to not ask.

\---

The Dravanian Forelands is a beautiful place, Tzitzi muses. If she was the type of person to stop and smell the flowers, maybe she would’ve realized earlier.

Ninki nanka flesh smells absolutely abhorrent, but Tzitzi is used to terrible things in general. She lugs back a whole basket of it, barely escaping the afternoon sun. Melusine seems to rouse just from the scent alone.

“My thanks,” Melusine says, and Tzitzi sits and waits for her to ask for more songs, more stories, anything-- but she doesn’t say much at all. She eats, but only finishes half the basket before resting her head.

“Come closer,” Melusine hums, and Tzitzi obeys. She remembers that Melusine is dying. She tries to forget. “I wish to tell a story.”

Melusine closes her eyes, and Tzitzi places a hand on her snout to tell her she’s still there. She waits for Melusine to speak, but instead, she goes back to sleep. Tzitzi can feel her breath on her sleeve, a sign that she’s still here, too.

Instead, when the sun dips over the peak of Sohm Al and the light in Mourn filters to nothing but the glow of lava under the stars, Tzitzi gets up--

_\--The smell of cold air gives way to flowers. “A tree would look good here,” she says, standing atop the floating island, dress billowing in the churning mists. Melusine raises her head, surveying the land in all its twisted beauty, enjoying a sight that will be sung of for as long as songs are sung. “Let’s find a sproutling. Lend me your wings, Melusine!”_

_She looks up expectantly, as if she has any right to command a dragon five times her size. But Melusine obeys, without so much as a pause, and as she climbs, she presses her face against Melusine’s scales, laughing--_

Tzitzi blinks. “Fuck,” she whispers to herself. “She _does_ sound like me.”

\---

For some reason, Tzitzi can’t stop thinking about her laugh.

Vidofnir sees Tzitzi pacing around, and waits for a good twenty minutes before asking: “What troubles thou?”

“Nothing,” Tzitzi blatantly lies. She wonders if she should ask Vidofnir more, about Melusine and her maiden. But she stops herself, deciding that Melusine would tell her if she wanted to.

If she could.

Her mind keeps dwellling on the topic. She can’t sleep. She knows exactly why this is happening and hates it. Finally, a few words leave her lips--

“Do you have any partners?”

Vidofnir looks at Tzitzi. “I have sired children, if that is thine question.”

“Ah, I mean--” Tzitzi continues pacing around, while trying to think of a less... _embarrassing_ phrasing. “Any romantic lovers?”

“Thou thinkest me a guileless maiden?”

“Wait, I don’t--!” Tzitzi cuts herself off in case she says anything else incriminating, but Vidofnir simply laughs. As much as a dragon has laugh, anyway.

Finally, she answers the Elezen’s question. “Aye. Many.”

“Any mortals?”

“Not I,” Vidofnir says. “But I have outlived them all, regardless.”

Tzitzi stops fidgeting. “...How the hell do you do that?”

“Do...?”

“How do you figure out what I wanna ask before I do?”

Vidofnir looks amused, letting a snort through her nose. “Centuries of conversation shall gift anyone with such knowing.”

Ah, right. Old and wise and all. Tzitzi sits on the floor, next to Vidofnir, because she’s tired of walking. “So... do you still want to love again?”

“...Art thou propositioning me?”

“NO!” Tzitzi immediately panics, shaking her head and crossing her arms. “No, no, nothing like that! I just...”

“‘Tis been eons since I have been rejected with such fervor,” Vidofnir says, and she’s definitely laughing now.

Tzitzi entertains the thought of just leaping off Anyx Trine to save herself from this embarrassment. But Vidofnir, bless her soul, gives her a more reasonable out. “I jest. ‘Tis late, and time to rest.”

Vidofnir raises her wing. Tzitzi wonders how the hell her life has gotten to this point, where she just lies under a dragon’s wing and sleeps there with no issue.

\---

_Heed me, my child. The servants of Hydaelyn envision a different outcome. They intend salvation not only for Ishgard, but for the doomed dragonslayer as well._

Her father taught her to fight for a happy ending.

Claribel was always a terrible storyteller. She would weave tales of grandeur, of princesses and dragons and a rain of arrows, but it would never end well. Tzitzi knows why her mother would subject her to such horrid endings, lovers separated and nations felled. She never wanted Tzitzi to leave home. She never wanted any of this.

But her father told her to argue back. Claribel’s stories never had to end like that. There can always be a happy ending. There is always a recourse.

And now, staring down Hraesvelgr, she still believes. There has to be a happy ending. It doesn’t have to end like this. Estinien doesn’t have to be lost to them.

No, she never really liked Estinien, but he doesn’t deserve to be killed by his own best friend, or left for dead after coming so close to freedom.

When Tzitzi stood on the Steps of Faith, staring down the shade of Nidhogg conjured by his own maddening thirst for vengeance, she gripped her greatsword and decided that it was time to be a fucking hero.

Julius went down first, taking the brunt of a killing blow for the rest of them. Reika saved Julius from being trampled underfoot, but couldn’t save herself from the wrath of his fangs and savage blows. Breve kept them alive the whole time, and Akhira’a exerted all the power he had to bring Nidhogg to his knees, before he fainted--

But he still moved. He still breathed, the dreadful wyrm, scales burning with fire. He turned to Breve and gathered all that remained of his power.

“BREVE!” She remembers screaming. “BREVE, COME HERE! I’LL SHIELD YOU!”

Breve turned to Tzitzi.

And she ran in the opposite direction.

It’s kind of comical. Tzitzi must’ve looked like an idiot, reaching out desperately for Breve as goes further and further away. Normally, Tzitzi’s brain takes a while to catch up on what the hell is happening, but at this one time, she understood exactly what Breve was doing.

Better one death than a chance that both of them will die, right?

The Akh Morn that came down on Breve practically erased her from Tzitzi’s sight. There is no recourse. There is no happy ending.

There isn’t any time to be a hero when there’s no one left here worth saving.

Tzitzi doesn’t quite remember what happens next. She remembers the feeling of the sword in her hands, glittering like the stars, the icy exterior barely reminding her of an old friend. She remembers the feeling of heat, washing over her. She remembers bringing her sword up to Nidhogg and fucking screaming. She remembers the rage in her body becoming physical, _real,_ and she remembers bring it right up to Nidhogg’s face, damned if she does and damned if she doesn’t, it doesn’t matter anyway--

Heroes don’t give up, even if they’re the last one standing.

\---

Melusine wakes up, three days later. She interrupts Tzitzi, mid-verse, as if it’s something utterly urgent.

“Thou hath told me rich tales of adventures beyond this realm,” Melusine hums. “But what does thou wish for?”

“Wish for?” Tzitzi puts down her lute. “In what manner?”

“I hath no right to decide that for thou,” Melusine replies.

Tzitzi does have an answer. But it’s something she can’t say while looking someone in the eye, so she instead casts her sights on the ground. 

“It’s not... very grand, honestly,” Tzitzi says, and Melusine laughs, as if amused Tzitzi needed to preface her answer.

But she does, because--

\---

(A long time ago, her answer would’ve been confident. _I wish I could be a hero._

Sometimes, she sees Akhira’a flipping through the pages of arcane texts, with some strangely wistful expression on his face. He collects books from all over the world, in every kind of language, adding onto his ever-expanding collection. He never has time to finish reading any of them, because the world calls for heroes, and the Warriors of Light always answer. She used to make fun of him, before-- _you’re a Warrior of Light, you don’t need to study--_ but she understands, now. The dream of a previous life, where Akhira’a was a scholar and not a hero. The longing for the mundane, again, from once upon a time.

If only life was simple enough for him to spend sleepless nights toiling over yellowed pages. She wonders if he’s enjoying this, now that the war is over. Or is he still working like a man possessed, clamping down on every bit of political instability and possible insurgency he can find? The latter is more likely.

It’s a little different for Tzitzi. The others were thrust into the limelight by the grace of Hydaelyn, handpicked specifically for a destiny they never asked for. But for Tzitzi, who grew up trying to make her own happy ending, it’s exactly what she always expected.

Sometimes, she wonders where she would be without the Echo. But there’s no use in thinking about things that will never happen.

Nowadays, however, her mind wanders back to those pointless thoughts of an impossible dream, a past life they’ve long woken up from. She dreams, in waking and in the night, of a life in Gridania. A house nestled in the Lavender Beds, close but not too close to her parents’ cottage. It overlooks a waterfall, there’s a wheelbarrow of flowers in front of the door and the smell freshly tilled soil still lingering in the porch. The living room is kind of a disaster, because Tzitzi wants a loft and cute Hatching-tide wallpaper while Breve wants earthy tones and a cozy nook with a window to let the light in, but it works, in a way. The scent of coffee fills the house every morning, because Breve needs it and yet tells Tzitzi to never drink it, because it’s terrible and Tzitzi just gives her a look, every time. They don’t work together in the day, Breve has to go to the Conjurer’s Guild to teach while Tzitzi is off doing boring patrol work as a Gods’ Quiver Bow, but they have a place to go back to when it’s late.

The little details always change. But there’s one constant, other than the house overlooking the waterfall, because Breve’s always wanted that. Winter comes and there are piles of snow in blocking the entrance, Breve is telling Tzitzi off for forgetting to sprinkle salt as the both of them force open the front door, and as the snow suddenly gives way, they both tumble onto the snow, and Tzitzi laughs--

Breve always has to be there.

When Nidhogg dissipates into nothing at the brunt of Tzitzi’s blade and she looks up, she doesn’t notice Estinien. She sees Breve, half of her body burnt, but she’s forced herself onto her feet, grabbing Julius’ hand and helping him up, to-- Tzitzi feels her whole world suddenly come back together and make sense again, and it’s Estinien’s voice that brings her back to reality, barely holding the wrath of Nidhogg back. Alphinaud is there, he drops his book and Estinien turns to Tzitzi because she’s the only one who looks marginally alive, he asks her to kill him and the only thing she can think is, no fucking way.

When she tugs at the Eye and risks death once again, it’s not because she wants to be a hero. It’s not even because it’s the right thing to do. She’s set in this happy ending because she remembers Breve looking towards the stars, eyes searching for any sign of the wyrm, the expression you have when the world stops making sense for a while--

Through the haze of pain, every burning muscle in her body screaming at her to stop, she _swears,_ she _saw--_

Then, the Eye comes loose.

Tzitzi knows what it’s like to have the world fall apart.

Her answer to Melusine, if she wants to keep it simple, is a world where she knows Breve will still be there. A world where their biggest problem is Tzitzi’s airheadedness and how Breve always get lost, even with a map. A world with a house overlooking a waterfall and no grand destiny clinging onto her back, dragging them back into danger, again, and again, and--

It’s so boring. It’s such a boring answer that she hates it. But it’s also terrifying, because a world where Breve will always be there just doesn’t exist, and will never exist, no matter how hard she tries. It’s the dream they’ve both woken up from the moment Hydaelyn first spoke to them.

If she wants to keep it even simpler, what Tzitzi wishes for is a happy ending.)

\---

“I don’t have any wishes,” Tzitzi answers. “I only have goals to reach.”

Melusine lets out a laugh. “Ha! What confidence! I admire such determination.”

“Now, it’s your turn,” Tzitzi says, and she doesn’t know why the hell she does. Maybe it’s because she wants, desperately, to deflect attention off herself for a moment. “What do you wish for?”

Melusine doesn’t respond. Tzitzi wonders if she’s said something wrong.

Then, before she can voice her doubts, Melusine launches herself off the floor.

Tzitzi’s thrown back by the gust of wind. Even when injured, the strength of a dragon is nothing to be scoffed at. Tzitzi takes a while to recover, just barely remembering that this is the same dragon who hasn’t woken up in three days and she’s feared the worst, and Tzitzi looks up in awe as Melusine flies overhead-- she meets her mortal gaze, opens her jaws and says:

“Does thou wish to grant it?”

Tzitzi doesn’t know when she agrees to it. She only knows that she climbs onto Melusine’s back in a way far too familiar, arms wrapping around the base of her neck, and as they fly upwards, scaling the heights of Sohm Al, she laughs--

They break through the clouds, and Tzitzi sees a sight that will be sung of for as long as songs are sung.

Melusine soars through the air, and Tzitzi wonders how long she’s been waiting for this. To return to the smell of cold air, wings adrift in the churning mists, the not-quite same laugh but it’s so similar that you can just _pretend--_

_\--and she is lies against Melusine’s body, what a delicate little thing, a mortal dealing with forces that should be beyond her. But that wasn’t on their mind a thousand years ago, while man and dragon still lived in the skies above, and the statue of Shiva entwined with Hraesvelgr still stood untouched at the base of Sohm Al. The smell of freshly tilled soil still lingers in the air, and she looks at the tree she’s gingerly planted in the centre of this floating island, the tip of its leaves barely reaching her waist if she stands straight-up._

_“A fence would be good,” she hums. “A stone one, around the edge. Let’s do that.”_

_“One must wonder, when thou will ever stop making demands,” Melusine replies, and the Elezen looks almost affronted for a moment, before the same laugh, again, ringing through the air, crisper than the smell of cold air--_

Melusine lands [ at the roots of a magnificent tree.](https://ffxiv.gamerescape.com/wiki/Sightseeing_Log:_The_Old_Father) Tzitzi dismounts, before the dizziness of just having a memory hits her again, and she lies against Melusine’s body with a short gasp. “You fly really fast,” Tzitzi notes.

 _As if you were rushing for something._ Words unsaid, but perhaps implied, placed into the sentence by your own mind. “What _is_ your wish?”

Melusine looks up at the tree. “I would have liked to see this grow,” she says, and for some reason, Tzitzi realizes she’s not quite talking to herself or the Elezen.

The sky darkens, slowly. The inner trunk of the tree glows a comforting blue.

Tzitzi takes the silence to mean there is nothing more to say.

“...Too late to fly back to the Forelands.” Melusine raises her wing, letting it rest over Tzitzi. She’s used to this, by now. “I wish for thou to stay.”

“Okay.” Tzitzi closes her eyes. “I’ll stay.”

\---

(And she left, because--

Breve wanted to bandage her own injuries, but Tzitzi wouldn’t let her. Her arms took the worst of it, and others would recoil in shock at the extent of her injuries, but they’ll heal without scars. They all do.

There’s silence between the both of them, because Tzitzi wants to say something but she’s still crying, and Breve just watches. Nidhogg has fallen, Ishgard is _alive,_ and for some reason, Tzitzi can’t find it in herself to enjoy the fanfare. She’s wrapping the bandage around Breve’s arm, and Breve can say, _it’s alright, I don’t need them to be bandaged._ Because she doesn’t, because she always gets better, but she doesn’t say that, because she knows Tzitzi better than she knows herself, sometimes, and Tzitzi needs to feel like she’s done something to help.

“...Don’t do that again,” Tzitzi finally says. Breve looks up.

“Do what?”

“Almost die,” Tzitzi mutters.

“Ah...” Breve closes her eyes. “I had little choice.”

Anger takes many different forms. Many times in raised voices, howling, the sounds of fighting and the litany of violence-- however, when Tzitzi gets angry in that way, it’s temporary. She is wont to picking fights for little reason, but they are fleeting. At the end, she apologizes. Things are forgiven.

In other times, anger takes the form of silence. Eyes that refuse to meet, fingers that twitch and lips that part to say something, anything, but there is nothing to be said. That’s when Breve knows it’s serious.

“...Tzitzi?” She speaks, but her friend doesn’t quite look at her. She’s looking down, and she always has to look down to meet Breve’s gaze, but she consciously avoids it this time. “Are you angry at me?”

“Of course,” Tzitzi says. And everything else she wants to say, everything else that would’ve made this situation just marginally better-- it refuses to leave her mouth.

She wants to tell the whole truth. She wants to say _I’m angry because we promised to get through everything together._ She wants to grab Breve and hug her and finally cry, for real, and _I’m angry because you’re the person I’m fighting for._

_I’m angry because I love you. Please don’t leave me. I wish for you to stay._

She never says what she wants before it’s too late. She always makes the same mistakes.

Breve is the one who raises her arms, and Tzitzi almost snaps at her because she’s undoing the bandages with how she’s moving, but then she hugs Tzitzi and says, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if I could live through it, but I didn’t want you to die.”

Tzitzi has nothing left to say.

At the break of dawn the next day, Vidofnir came to Tzitzi with her peculiar request. It was an out. A way to distance herself forget the feeling of the whole world falling apart, and when she comes back, she’ll be laughing again, getting drunk in wine and merriment, acting like the hero she’s always wished to be. She leaves before Breve even wakes up, and she knows perfectly well Breve will wonder why she goes away without rudely awakening her to say goodbye.

But there’s no escaping it. She still dreams of her. The girl she found in the forest, her first follower, her best friend, the most important fucking person in her life that she’s never realized until it was almost too late, her happy ending--

Breve is always there.

Tzitzi doesn’t have to be.)

\---

“Words meant for her are much better said within her earshot, are they not?”

Melusine’s voice wakes Tzitzi up.

It takes a while to remember where she is. Melusine raises her wing, and the sunlight hits Tzitzi right in the face, and she groans before rubbing her eyes. “Wha... what?”

“Most dragonlings outgrow somniloquy by their fiftieth year,” Melusine laughs, and Tzitzi isn’t awake enough to know what ‘somniloquy’ means. “...Thou hast business to attend to. I would advise thou returns to Ishgard.”

Tzitzi sits up. “I-- huh?”

“Thou art prone to sleep-talking,” Melusine finally clarifies, and Tzitzi blinks. Oh. It’s funny, how Melusine has to dumb down her own dragon language for Tzitzi to understand what she’s saying. That’s right, she does sleep-talk-- “Return, mortal, to thou mortal friends. Especially the ‘Breve’ thou speaks to in thy fitful slumber.”

“...Oh, by the Twelve,” Tzitzi mutters. “If I’ve been sleep-talking that much, what has Vidofnir been hearing this whole week?”

Melusine lets out a hearty laugh, loud enough to scare the birds from the trees. There’s a spark in her eyes. “Dwellest not on past embarrassments, and thou will feel most liberated.”

“Easier said than done.” Tzitzi gets onto her feet. “Anyway... I’m glad you’re a lot better now. I guess you’re right. I should go back.”

“Would it be that I could accompany thou-- but for now, I wish to stay.” Melusine looks up at the tree.

“I’ll come back to visit,” Tzitzi promises. “So don’t forget me!”

She takes awhile to find the direction of Ishgard’s Aetheryte. She doesn’t teleport as freely as the other Warriors of Light, because while they are resplendent with anima, Tzitzi’s spiritual energy has always been on the lacking side. But this is urgent, and she doesn’t have time to walk all the way down to Sohm Al. She can say goodbye to Vidofnir on another day. She would understand.

\---

(At first, Tzitzi tries to pretend it’s jealousy. She’s angry that someone else takes away Breve’s attention. It’s the most obvious explanation.

But she knows it’s not right. She has a lot of reasons to hate Estinien, but the fact that he endears himself to Breve isn’t one. Hell, full glad is she to know that Breve can actually be attracted to people in the first place, instead of forever being confined to the fate of the stoic sober man at the bar, when Tzitzi is nearly black-out drunk and trying to flirt with everything that walks on two legs.

She wishes Breve had better taste, though. Someone more invested in her happiness and less so in suicidal pursuits.

Then again, she’s best friends with Tzitzi. So that’s kinda moot.

Tzitzi already knew the answer. She’s known it for a long time. She’s always loved Breve as family, and really, this isn’t that much a leap. She wants to stay with her, she wants to kiss her, she wants to grab her and-- but none of that is going to happen, because Tzitzi loves her way too much to even think on doing anything outside the realm of imagination.

That’s the issue. That’s the most terrifying part.

Breve is always there, at the back of her head, the ghost lingering on her thoughts and the pillar in her life that can never fall. Breve wakes up in the morning as often as the sun rises upon this star, and Tzitzi’s taken her for granted in the same way as the sunrise, too, because she’s been there every day, the sun rises every day, and-- she’s so angry at herself, for ever thinking that, for thinking this will last forever, for wanting it to last forever--

Tzitzi doesn’t have to be. She doesn’t have to be there. She doesn’t have to be the person living in the cottage overlooking the waterfall, she doesn’t have to be the person tumbling out into the snow with her and laughing even when her cheeks are turning red from the frost. She wants to be, god, she does, but she doesn’t have to.

_I wish for a happy ending._

Yours. It has to be yours. It doesn’t have to be hers. Breve’s happy ending is Tzitzi’s own.

There’s really no point in being terrified of falling in love when it’s already far too late for that. Being a Warrior of Light is a lot more difficult when you can’t die anymore, and she can’t die either, even though Tzitzi knows that the end result of loving her can be rather _fatal_ at times. Tzitzi’s afraid of being beholden to anyone, to anything, but in the end, she’s beholden to only herself and her feelings and that’s the chain on her leg she can never ever break.

 _For those we have lost. For those we can yet save._ Akhira’a says that, but while it’s true for Tzitzi, she’s always picked the less profound answer when asked, who she’s fighting for-- _For glory. For gold. For myself._

It’s not true. She hates that it’s not true, because the only person she can be trusted to take care of is herself, and even that is up for debate.

She runs away because she just wants Breve to be happy and not fucking die. She doesn’t know how to do that.

But she has to return. And when she does, she’ll go back to what’s been generally working, so far:

Being a fucking hero.)

\---

She arrives in Ishgard smelling faintly of dragon and more strongly of cold air, untouched by snow.

But the last thing anyone is thinking about is how Tzitzi smells like, especially when she barges into the Forgotten Knight, looking like she’s just swam across the bloody Limsa Lominsan sea to get here. She grabs the handrail and vaults right over the top of the stairs, landing on the tavern floor with an _omph_ and someone muttering _bloody adventurers._ She looks up, and Reika’s waving at her first, looking up from a patchwork of cloth, and Breve--

Breve is fast asleep while sitting upright, arms crossed over her chest and one leg lying atop the other. “Where did you go?” Reika asks, and Tzitzi just shrugs.

“I went adventuring,” Tzitzi answers. “What’s Breve doing, sleeping out here?”

“I was teaching her to sew, but...” Reika shakes her head with a sheepish smile on her face. “She’s been staying up late, waiting for you to get back.”

Oh.

Tzitzi lets out a sigh. “Nophica’s teats, she’ll never let me have my space, will she?” Tzitzi bends down, slowly slipping an arm behind Breve’s legs and one behind her back, trying not to wake her up.

Reika points Tzitzi to Breve’s inn room, but Tzitzi still remembers where it is. She opens the door with her elbow and slowly puts her on the bed. “At least you won’t get that much of a backache when you wake up,” Tzitzi says. The morning light is streaming through the window, but Tzitzi promptly closes the blinds.

“...Mm.”

Breve opens her eyes. “Who...?”

“Hey,” Tzitzi says, and Breve is barely conscious enough to frown at her. “I’m back.”

“...Where...?” Breve groans. “Where did you go?”

“Go to sleep,” Tzitzi says, walking to the door. “I’ll still be here when you wake up. Don’t stress yourself, you already have a head full of white hairs as it is.”

“Are you still angry at me?”

“Angry about what?” Tzitzi shrugs, and even in her sleepy state, Breve shoots her a glare. “No, no, I’m not--! I went to cool off. I found a lady in a lake and danced with her for a few days. She was pretty hot.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Breve mutters.

She pulls open the door. She steps outside.

“Oh, and--” Tzitzi sticks her head into the room. “I love you.”

Breve pulls up the covers. “Yeah, yeah... I love you too, Tzitzi.”

Tzitzi closes the door behind her.

As she chats with Reika, trying to catch up, she realizes that Akhira’a is on a date with Aymeric this evening, and decides to drop by to spy on them.

\---

(Dragons rally before death, too.

Tzitzi only learns of it much, much later. She smells of Doman skies and still has Ala Mhigan dirt pressed to the soles of her boots. She comes to Vidofnir with two nations liberated under her belt, and Vidofnir--

“Little one.” Tzitzi feels like that name is familiar, somehow. “I am sorry.”

Melusine never did tell Tzitzi her story.

Tzitzi doesn’t cry that much. At least, that’s what she tries to tell herself, because she starts crying pretty quickly. She’s crying because Melusine sent her away, knowing she wouldn’t live to see her again, but it’s okay, because mortal men have lives that burn like candle wicks and they leave, no matter what--

Vidofnir licks Tzitzi’s face.

She doesn’t object, technically, but she does stop crying, just to look up at the ancient dragon. “I...” Tzitzi blinks. “Was that a kiss?”

“If thou wishes to believe so,” Vidofnir answers.

Tzitzi’s still holding the lute in her hands. She wanted to sing about Doma, the Sun and the Moon alike, love that is good and love that is very, very bad, but now... “Melusine besotted tales of mortal love,” Vidofnir says. “She particularly favored thine songs for such a reason.”

“Ahah, I guess so...” Tzitzi plucks at the strings.

“There is one she enjoyed above all else,” Vidofnir notes. “Alas, I never heard her answer for which.”

“I think I know,” Tzitzi says. “Do you want to hear it?”

She sings about Breve.

The song never ends. Tzitzi’s fingers just stop moving.

She falls asleep under Vidofnir’s wing, but calls everyone on the linkpearl to tell them goodnight first. Breve barely manages to ask her where she is before Tzitzi casually switches it off. “I’m not angry at her anymore,” she says aloud, even if she’s not sure how much Vidofnir is privy to, and how much she sleep-talks. “I just need to get away, sometimes.”

But she always comes back, like the sun rising in the morning. Like how a tree can stand for a thousand years. Like how a song can last forever.)


End file.
